


I See Red

by LexiAndTheDiamonds



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Chris Evans - Fandom, Knives Out (2019), Knives Out (2019) RPF
Genre: 18+, Actor Chris Evans, Bearded Chris Evans, Desk Sex, Dom Chris Evans, F/M, Hate Sex, NSFW, Oral Sex, Smut, chris evans character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29194308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LexiAndTheDiamonds/pseuds/LexiAndTheDiamonds
Summary: Reader hates Ransom. Ransom hates reader. What happens when they're stuck in one room?Well technically you already know lolWrote this for Hoelentine's Challenge 2021.
Relationships: Ransom Drysdale & Original Female Character(s), Ransom Drysdale & Reader, Ransom Drysdale & You, Ransom Drysdale/Original Character(s), Ransom Drysdale/Original Female Character(s), Ransom Drysdale/Reader, Ransom Drysdale/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	I See Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drabblewithfrannybarnes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drabblewithfrannybarnes/gifts).



> ughhh I wrote after sooo long, hopefully it's upto the mark! I recommend listening to I See Red by Everybody Loves an Outlaw, kinda inspired the fic <3

**Red**. That’s all you saw when you heard the name Ransom Drysdale. That man drove you up the wall whenever you caught sight of him. It didn’t help that he had everything; looks, money, prestige.

God, you hated him. He was an arrogant, selfish, narcissistic, sweater-wearing prick.

Coincidentally, that was what he was wearing the first time you saw him. A maroon/red sweater, slightly frayed, with faded leggings, accentuating every sinew, every muscle of his body.

Sauntering inside the offices of Blood Like Wine, like he owned the place (technically, he did). His goddamned smirk drove you nuts. 

He came and stood near your desk, oozing impatience.

“ _May I help you, Mr. Drysdale?_ ” you asked, masking your irritation as well as you could.

He took you in, his lips pursed in as he scanned you. It bothered you to no extent, your hackles already rising.

“ _Not sure you can, but yes, I’m here to meet my grandfather. If you did your job you’d know that already_.” he said, with an authoritative air.

You bristled. your fingers closing in a fist as you somehow managed to keep your cool.

“ _Well, I have a list of all the people who are scheduled to meet Mr. Thrombey today and for some reason, you’re name has been crossed off. Of course, it could be a mistake and you’re welcome to wait while I rectify the situation with him_.” you said sweetly, (a little too sweetly), punctuating your retort with a saccharine sweet smile.

Ransom’s face hardened, his mouth settling in a firm line. His eyebrow twitching and jaw tightening, he stopped for a beat, before marching out of the building. As he left, you swore you heard him mutter _bitch_ , which only made you happier.

\---------------------------------------------------------

Remember how you said you hated Ransom? Yes, that was still the case, 6 months later as well. Well, not hate, like you did earlier. But he still got on your nerves quite a bit. Your verbal jousts were somewhat of an office favourite, reaching even Harlan’s ears, who chuckled when he heard how there was someone to take Ransom down a peg.

You’d been lucky and gotten a promotion as a junior editor, something you hadn’t expected to happen this fast. You’d jumped out of joy at the news, hugging Harlan and then remembering that he was still your boss. He laughed as he hugged you back, congratulating you. You’d gotten quite close with the Thrombeys, what with all the extra work you’d picked up at the office, working under the tutelage of Walt as well.

The only thorn on your side was Ransom, who could be the very definition of a wet blanket in the Oxford Dictionary; or DICK-tionary. He’d been promoted to an editor, big surprise, and had somehow gotten whiff of the fact that you were to have a party to celebrate your promotion. Lo and behold, you had three manuscripts to check and re-check, all having deadlines within the time frame of your party.

You’d went to confront him about it, but the motherfucker simply said that duty preceded “ _needless partying and mindless gossip._ ”

You’d said nothing at the time, barely having time to cry, the work making you cancel the party. As you made your way back to your office, you saw a bottle of Moët Star on your desk. Checking the note, you saw it was from a H. Drysdale. “ _Glad to see you hard at work, lil minx. Yours truly and faithfully, Hugh Ransom Drysdale_.”

_The asshole_.

So imagine your surprise when he recommended you for a Writer’s Symposium in LA; the only problem being that it meant spending a weekend with him, in all his asshole glory, with no buffer.

You swallowed your feelings and grit your teeth, for the sake of your professional life. A weekend with Ransom wouldn’t be so bad, right? It’s not like you’d be spending a lot of time together, you’d be in separate rooms, mingling with different people, leading separate lives and separate schedules.

Why, oh why then, was there only one room booked, with only one bed? Was this a sick joke God was playing? Or worse, Ransom? You’d decided right then that you’d rather die than live out a cliché.

Alas, this was the last room available, what with the symposium and it being peak season.

_Just. Peachy._

_\------------------------------------------------------------------_

**Red**. Well, technically mahogany. The colour of the desk you were currently bent over. How had this happened? Interesting story, actually.

The second day of the symposium had gone pretty well; you’d mingled and networked with a lot of people who were interested in investing in Harlan and most importantly, Blood Like Wine.

He’d as usual been an asshole, picking fights about the pettiest bullshit. You’d done your best to ignore it, knowing that engaging him would only make him happier. And that was one thing you didn’t want to give him: the satisfaction of winning a fight, especially against you.

So you did your best, leafing through the pages of the latest manuscript, the sound of the highlighter irking Ransom even more. His incessant digs about how you didn’t mingle well or that how the promotion wasn’t that well deserved got to you, sure, but you had to be the bigger person.

Till he said that he was thinking of promoting Vanessa to senior copywriter. Vanessa. The girl who couldn’t string two sentences together to save her life. Mean as it sounded, you couldn’t help it, it was just a knee-jerk reaction.

“ _I’m sorry, isn’t Harlan in charge of promotions and demotions? Last I checked, he was still the boss at Blood Like Wine._ ” you spat, voice sounding surlier than you had intended it to.

“ _Ah, but you forget, I’m still Hugh Ransom Drysdale. Which means I’m still your boss. And Vanessa might be bad now, but nothing a little grooming and personal attention won’t fix-_ ”

Before he could finish his sentence and you could register what was happening, you picked up a glass of water and splashed it on his face, his words stoking the flames of your fury.

You got up to storm out of the room and away from the infuriating man, but before you could do so, you felt your arm twisted behind your back as Ransom pushed you towards the desk in the suite, bending you over it harshly, all the papers falling around you like confetti.

“ _Y’know, I’d promote you over her any day, but you always have to be such a fuckin’ bitch about every.damn.thing._ ” he growled, pulling your miniskirt over your hips, groaning as he saw your stocking-clad legs.

“ _It’s too bad we start off like this, though._ ” he jeered, landing a smack on your ass.

You gasped, trying to process whatever was happening. You wanted this, there was no denying it. Hell, you needed him right. fucking. now. You’d worry about the implications later, right now, you just needed him to calm the beast that he had awoken.

“ _Are you just gonna talk, or are you gonna get on with it, Hugh?!_ ” you retorted, turning back to meet his eyes. It normally would be fire meeting ice, but looks like that was changing today.

His mouth tightening, he tore your stockings off, the material falling to the floor, like a wilted petal. Running a finger over your core through the material of your wet panties, earning a groan from you.

Your mouth went slack as you felt him enter a digit into you, your walls clenching around him. He added a second finger, then a third, your pants syncing with one another as he invoked sensations in you which you’d only read in books.

All of a sudden, he stopped, pulling his fingers out. You huffed in annoyance, whipping your head back as your eyes met his. A wicked glint in them, he drawled, “ _Frustrating, isn’t it? Just like you are._ ”

Circling your clit, his tongue laving over your sensitive nub as he taunted, “ _this is what it feels like. Hot one moment, cold and bitchy the next_.” You scrunched your eyes shut, wanting him more than anything. Keening, you thrust your ass towards his fingers urging him on. Sensing that you were close, he stopped again, his mouth and fingers moving away, leaving your core feeling bereft.

You nearly screamed out of frustration. But you wouldn’t let him know that; no matter how much you craved him, that was a battle he wasn’t going to win.

“ _No wisecracks? My my, you are a tough lil’ minx. Too bad you’re not gonna win this one._ ” he said with a flourish.

He continued doing this for quite some time, each time he’d bring you closer and closer than the last time and then stopped, your body screaming for release. Angry, hot tears pooled in your eyes as you realised that you were playing a losing game: the only way you’d sort of win is if you’d admitted that you needed him.

“ _Ransom…please….please let me come…._ ” you whimpered, voice cracking with unshed tears.

By some divine providence, or perhaps Ransom taking pity on you, he obliged, his hard shaft a hot brand against your ass. _When did he take off his pants?_ you wondered, somewhat idly. _Who cares_ , your subconscious sneered, _you’re finally gettin’ some._

Running his cock along your folds to gather the moisture there, he plunged into your hot, wet channel in one swift move, leaving you breathless. He, too, must’ve been really charged up, because he began moving with a relentless pace, leaving you gasping for air, arms flailing about trying to clutch the edge of the table. He grabbed your arms, clasping them behind your back roughly, thrusting with more force with the added traction. You mewled as your fingernails bit into your palms, trying to control the feelings that he was invoking. The overstimulation had left you feeling a little numb, your legs shaking and tingly. 

Ransom tightened his hold on your arms, indicating that he was close, as were you. The coil in your belly tightening, he circled your clit till you saw stars and screamed as you finally reached your peak, your head falling forward with a thud, your legs buckling under your weight. Ransom followed soon after, hands gripping your hips with such ferocity that he was sure to leave a ton of marks. He shouted your name, falling forward and resting his forehead on your back, trying to catch his breath.

A few moments passed, following which you felt yourself being hauled up bridal style, into Ransom’s arms. You looked up at him, a tad tired, quizzically. 

“ _I hope you’ve caught your breath, lil’ minx, cuz I’m gonna make you scream all night."_

Dropping you unceremoniously on the bed, he grinned as he rasped, _"You’re gonna prove if you’re worth that promotion, sweetheart.”_


End file.
